


These Tired Eyes of Mine

by roxashasboxers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Not-Quite-Fallen Castiel, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:05:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxashasboxers/pseuds/roxashasboxers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is basically a Purgatory reunion fic of the "what if Benny wasn't there and Dean had to survive alone?" variety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Tired Eyes of Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for school with the prompt “heaven on earth.” Originally posted on tumblr. Title taken from "I'm Yours" by the Script, thought I definitely feel like this has a much less peaceful tone than the song.

"I prayed to you, Cas." He says, "Every night."

But it was more than that. There is no night in purgatory. There is no day. There is an eternal twilight, dusk on the cusp of setting in. The sky shifts from gray-blue to gray-black, but there is no sun, no moon, no stars. There is just light, however little, coming from all directions and nowhere at all. It tricks the eyes.

Everything is still yet nothing ever stops. There is no wind, but something is always moving through the trees, shaking their tattered leaves. There are no waves in the ocean. It is an eternity of stagnant water. There is no weather; no rain or clouds. Everything is frozen in time, as if the creator had given up too early, abandoned his work and tried again. You know this is true.

It is quiet when he finds you. That should be clue enough that something is wrong. It is never silent in purgatory. You are never alone. You are always watched, always hunted. There is always something to be feared.

The creatures fear him. He is human. He has a soul, the only one here, and although it is mutilated and stripped bare, it is different and frightening, possibly more so in its corruption. He is ruthless and unpredictable, enough to set the worst of beasts fleeing in terror. He is broken and cruel and they cannot fight his determination. He is not the quick kill they expected, and you think it says something that the only other deceit here is the steady unnatural light.

He has marks on his arms, his chest, his legs. There are wounds, yes, from teeth and claws and blades, but the marks are in groups of five. Tallies. A record of his kills embedded in his skin. They are at times both crisp and uneven, neat and tattered. They are an accusation and a declaration.

"I prayed to you, Cas." he says, "Every night."

The words are angry, but it is not rage he is shaking with, and when his legs start to give out, your arms are there to catch him. He feels the barest brush of your wings against his skin.

"I prayed." He says again, heart beating against yours, and you do not answer because you heard his pleas and you are afraid to say a word. You have failed him and yet he still believes. He hates and yet he still loves.

He is an enigma, a passionate whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He is human.

His arms are not Heaven, not as it stands now, ruined and ripe with wrath, but they remind you of the safety of your former sanctuary, and you wonder if your father knows what He has done to His most beautiful creation. You realize that you too, are conflicted, loving and hating, and wonder at how human you have become.

You are certainly no angel.

His hands press against the base of your wings, bury in faded feathers he cannot see. You wonder if he can feel the difference, feel the ash and blood that cling to your being. You wonder and he does not pull away.

He calms, shattered and shaking and clinging to your frame, but there is a serenity in him that you can feel taking shape. His soul calls out to you as it has for so long and your wings curl tighter, sheltering him with frayed feathers.

He sighs and tells you that what’s broken can be fixed, and the words makes you ache. You hold him tighter and for a moment, it feels as though you never fell.


End file.
